


Love Without Mercy

by Olivia_ES



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2019 [3]
Category: Gotham (TV), Passion - Sondheim/Lapine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Day 5: Different Era, F/M, M/M, Nygmobblepot Week 2019, Slow Burn, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_ES/pseuds/Olivia_ES
Summary: Edward is an Assistant Surgeon in the US Army Medical Department, enjoying a passionate love affair with Kristen. When he is assigned to a distant field hospital, the two vow to continue their romance long distance.  At his new post, he feels out of place amongst the soldiers of Colonel Gordon's brigade but connects with the Colonel's friend, crippled and PTSD-ridden Oswald Cobblepot.Written for Nygmobblepot Week: Day Five - Different Era





	1. Happiness Comes and Goes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover between Fox's Gotham and Sondheim's Passion. For those familiar with Passion's plot, fear not! I'm a sucker for happy endings.

Just another love story, that's what they would claim.  
Another simple love story - aren't all of them the same?  


\- “Happiness” from _Passion_ , by Stephen Sondheim

Edward Nygma was the happiest he’d ever been. He probably shouldn’t be. Most people would not describe any day of the past few years as happy relative to the rest of their lives. His nation was being torn apart by the bloodiest war in its admittedly rather brief history and he was exposed to some of the worst horrors of the battlefield daily. He had no right to be so happy. But he couldn’t help it. Dawn light became visible through the curtains and Edward leaned over and kissed the auburn hair of the woman lying next to him. This woman, Kristen, was the source of this irrational joy.  


“Would you think me odd if I told you I am exceedingly happy right now? Is there something wrong with me that I am so happy in times like these?” Kristen lifted her head and smiled at him.  


"If there is, it’s wrong with me as well. The time I’ve spent with you has been some of the happiest I’ve experienced in years.” She kissed him, and he felt the warmth he had so recently begun to become accustomed to swell within him. But this time it was tempered by a cold knot of guilt.  


“Kristen, do you remember when we met?” She giggled.  


“You were sitting on a park bench, covered in some poor soul’s dried blood. I didn’t know what to make of you.” Ed forced out a chuckle.  


“Yes, but later-” She sighed fondly.  


“You looked so sad. And once you explained your circumstances, I couldn’t help but feel bad for you. Little did I know how seductive pitifulness could be.” Ed didn’t really like her using such adjectives to describe him, but he smiled genuinely at the memory.  


“Little did I know that chance could be so kind, that serendipity could teach me so much about love.” Kristen buried her face in his neck.  


“I thought love was about duty and yielding to the desire on another.”  


“I thought love was merely a more intense form of longing.” Kristen shifted her head onto his shoulder.  


“But now I know that love is kindness and joy.” Ed sighed. He was sad to cut short this moment of shared nostalgia, but they were running out of time.  


“Do you remember what you said to me after the first time you took me to bed?” She lifted her head again to meet his eyes.  


“I said I felt like I’d been waiting my whole life to meet you.” Ed nodded, running his hands lightly through her hair.  


“Well, you are going to have to wait for me again. I just received orders for my next assignment. It’s in the South and it’s going to be a lot longer than my previous field assignments.” He felt the body in his arms stiffen.  


“Oh no! When do you leave?”  


“Five days. Don’t be sad.”  


“How can I not be.” Kristen sat up, pulling away from him.  


“I’ll write to you every day. We’ve made it through my shorter assignments we can make it through this one.”  


“It’s not us I’m worried about. You’re being sent south because we’re winning the war. Whose to say you’ll get back before its over? And once it’s over Tom will come back too.” Her eyes sparkled with increased moisture. “Then how will we see each other? You won’t be able to come here anymore, and I can’t exactly visit you in the medical officers’ quarters!” Tears escaped her eyes, Ed reached to wipe them away, but she brushed his hand away.  


“What do you want me to do?” Kristen buried her face in her hands.  


“I don’t know, I don’t know! I guess we can only carry on as we have and hope for the best.” She sobbed. He crawled over to her and gathered her in his arms.  


“I will think of you every moment I’m gone, and when I return I we will find a way to see each other.”


	2. Your Absence Only Makes My Love Grow Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward arrives at the field hospital.

I, too, have cried inside.  
You must not be ashamed of your tears.  
\- “Second Letter” from _Passion_ , by Stephen Sondheim

After a few weeks of rather miserable travel through the war-torn countryside, Edward arrived at the Virginian field hospital he had been assigned to. For most of the war, Edward had served as an Assistant Surgeon at the Army Medical Museum, most of his field experience involved aiding the Surgeon General in collecting specimens. This new assignment would be his first long-term position in a field hospital and came with a promotion to Surgeon. He arrived as the troops were doing drills and searched the faces of the soldiers as he passed to see if he could spot any familiar faces. His time with the Army Medical Museum had involved traveling to several different battlefields and had brought him in contact with a wide number of divisions, if only briefly. He didn’t spot anyone in particular, but he did note same familiar divisions from the XVIII Corps, including USCTs. He went immediately to report to the Hospital Steward, Dr. Guerra who showed him to his quarters – where he deposited his sparse belongings – before introducing him to the other hospital staff. First were the nurses, including a Leslie Thompkins who stood out as particularly friendly, then a surprisingly familiar face. 

“And this is your Assistant Surgeon, Dr. Lucius Fox.” Dr. Fox stuck out his hand with a tentative smile, and Edward couldn’t help but grin and shake it enthusiastically. 

“Dr. Fox! Of course, it’s so good to see you again! I don’t know if you remember me, but I assisted the Surgeon General when he visited your field hospital in Missouri! I was the one always carrying the bags of specimens!” Dr. Fox’s smile warmed. He had a nice smile, Edward hadn’t had the occasion to witness it during their previous interactions. 

“I remember, Dr. Nygma. You both helped treat wounded soldiers after the battle. I recall being impressed with your almost upbeat attitude even when conducting upwards of sixty surgeries per day.”

“And your professionalism and creative treatment solutions were always appreciated!” Edward had appreciated a lot of things about Dr. Fox. Probably more than he should have. No matter, he was with Kristen now and needn’t dwell on any confusing feelings he might have experienced in the past. The Hospital Steward frowned slightly, but Edward could not determine why.

“Thank you, you can stop shaking my hand now.” Edward looked down at where his hands were both still clasped around Dr. Fox’s right.

“Oh dear, I apologize! I can get a bit tactile when I’m excited.” The Hospital Steward cut in.

“Well, it’s certainly a relief to have a Surgeon who’s _excited_ to be working with Dr. Fox. Now let’s get you acquainted with some of the military officers, you’ll be working with them regularly.” Dr. Guerra showed him to where a number of officers were gathered about tables, eating and drinking, pointing out different men.

“That’s Major Alvarez, and there’s Lieutenant Bullock. And last, but certainly not least, Colonel Gordon.” He pointed to a man with a number of medals and relatively discreet mustache. Before they can be formally introduced, however, a scream rends the air. Followed by several shouts. Edward looks about, trying to discern the direction of the sound, body stiffening in preparation to run towards it. But the rest of the men merely pause their conversation and dive immediately back into their discussions as soon as the cries cease. Before Edward can comment, the Colonel notices him and approaches. 

“You must be Dr. Nygma, Welcome! Just in time for lunch.” They shake hands and Edward retrieves the letters he’d written for Kristen from his breast. He’d kept his promise to write every day but hadn’t had the opportunity to send any for several days.

“Thank you. Glad to be here. Where can I post a letter?” The Colonel took the envelopes from him. 

“I can take care of these for you after lunch. Grab a bowl and spoon and eat something. We’ll get you up to speed over a hot meal.” As they eat and converse another series of screeches breaks the flow of conversation. This time Colonel Gordon notices Edward’s reaction and gets his attention with a pat on the shoulder. Once the yells have subsided he explains.

“That’s Oswald Cobblepot he and I were fellow lieutenants under Colonel Falcone, but he was captured by the Rebels during a battle. When we finally took the fort and freed him, he was… different. After another battle that crippled his leg, and news that both his parents had passed, he has been… unwell.” Lieutenant Bullock laughs harshly.

“That’s one way to put it, the man’s a raving lu-” He’s cut off with a glare from the Colonel. 

“He has no family, no money, and is unable to care for himself. But after all we’d been through together, I just couldn’t bear to send him to an asylum. So, after he was honorably discharged for his injuries, we let him stay here at the hospital.” Edward nodded to convey is understanding and sympathy as Colonel Gordon continued. “The nurses see to his care, so you needn’t worry about it yourself. However, until some treatment can be found for his mania, the, uh, screaming is something we all must learn to live with.”

“I understand, sir. I am not intimately familiar with the ailments of the mind. But if there’s anything I could do ease his suffering, I would be glad to.” Colonel Gordon smiled, somewhat lopsidedly. 

“I appreciate the offer, I’m not sure there’s much any of us can do. But if you come across any books, he loves to read. It’s one of the few activities he is both able and inclined to take part in.”

“I have some books I brought with me, I’m not sure your friend would find them interesting, but he is welcome to borrow them.”

“Thank you, Dr. Nygma. That would be greatly appreciated.”

On his way to his quarters, Edward was stopped by one of the privates holding three envelopes.

“Dr. Nygma, sir. There are a few letters for you. They arrived before you, someone’s eager to contact you.” Edward thanked him and hurried to his bed, letters clutched to his chest. They were all from Kristen. Edward sorted them by date and settled in to read the first one. Goodness knows how long it would be until he received more, wartime post could be slow and sporadic and interstate correspondence was a lengthy undertaking in peacetime. He resolved to save the other letters for a bit later. The letter was clearly a response to the first one he’d sent just a few days after he’d departed.

_Dear Edward,_

_I too miss you so terribly it is like a physical wound. Unlike you, I can not diagnose my emotional ailment, but it is chronic in your absence. I have wept with yearning, I miss you so. I don’t want this letter to just be an account of my suffering, especially when you are in even more miserable circumstances yourself. So, I will take this time to remind you of our first kiss. We were talking by the river, remember? You were so shy. Neither of us knew what to do. Wanting each other so badly, knowing we weren’t supposed to. Not sure how much of the buzz in the air was a real attraction between us or merely projection of our own lonely feelings. You were too much of a gentleman to presume, so I had to take the plunge and kiss you. Oh, but you kissed back so beautifully. It was the gentlest kiss I ever had. It’s memories like this one that sustain me while you are away. Stay safe and hurry back to me._

_Love,_

_Kristen_

Edward clutched the letter to his chest for a moment before retrieving his own paper and writing utensils to begin his own letter.

_Dear Kristen,_

_I have finally arrived at the hospital, and what joy to find your first letter already waiting here for me…_


	3. This Military Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medical staff copes with a battle. Edward begins to settle into field hospital life, and can't help but be curious about the Colonel's disturbed friend.

_The defensive soldier often lives  
longer than the brave one._  
\- _Passion_ , by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine

Edward’s first few days mostly consisted of treating soldiers suffering from the usual battlefield diseases. There were quite a few cases of malaria and even more of pneumonia, the rest were nearly all some form of debilitating diarrhea or dysentery. It was filthy work, but he had never been particularly squeamish. Then came the first battle. It had been a while since Edward had worked in a field hospital during a battle, and this was his first time doing so as a Surgeon rather than an Assistant Surgeon. Once he had hoped his time at the Army Medical Hospital would better prepare him for the rigors of battle medicine. But he had found there was no way to truly prepare for such a grueling duty. The battle began in the morning, and as the earth rocked with cannon fire, wounded bodies began rolling in. Edward attended to five soldiers per hour on average, almost all needed multiple procedures, mostly amputations. Dr. Fox was an exemplary Assistant Surgeon, and as the battle wore on, Edward asked him to act as a second surgeon in order to increase the number of patients they could attend to. Nurse Thompkins ably stepped up to offer more immediate assistance during operations in his stead. After six hours of fighting Edward was drenched with blood, dizzy with its coppery smell, and starving. He managed to take a short break to drink some cold broth leftover from the previous day’s soup and dived back in. 

He was in the middle of amputating a shattered leg when the hospital tents were rent with screams. This in and of itself wasn’t unusual, wounded soldiers were seldom quiet and with constant amputations taking place, there was a lot of yelling to go around. But these screams were different. They weren’t the moans of the wounded or the cries of those in surgery, muffled by the cloth they bit down on. These were wild and shameless, and familiar. It took Edward a moment to place them, but he quickly recognized them from his first day. It must be Colonel Gordon’s disturbed friend. A glance at Nurse Thompkins confirmed it. 

“I’m sorry Dr. Nygma, the battle must have sent him off. I can go see if I can quiet him, but it might take a few minutes.” Edward looked down at his current patient.

“This procedure won’t take much longer, help me get through it and then you can take care of Mr. Co- uh, Cob- ah.”

“Cobblepot.”

“Right. Him. Although, if it can’t be done in a few minutes, let it go. This is war. A little noise isn’t going to hurt anyone as much as delayed or subpar treatment.” She nodded and continued to hold down their current patient as he finished the amputation. Then she hurried off to attend to Mr. Cobblepot. At first, the screams increased in volume and frequency, but then they became muffled. He prepped the next patient and when she returned they continued their work as before. 

The Confederate troops pulled back near sunset, but the hospital’s workload only increased. They took another quick break to eat some bread and soup before attending to those with illness or injuries not requiring major surgery. Nurse Thompkins held a lantern as Edward dug out bullets and stitched up various lacerations. He checked on a few of the more seriously ill patients before leaving the rest to the nurses and heading to bed. There was some more fighting the next day, but the Union troops drove back the rebels rather quickly. Edward spent most of the next few days performing surgeries, setting bones, amputating limbs, and treating illnesses and infections. A few times he checked on Dr. Fox who seemed to be performing admirably, although Edward once caught him throwing up, overcome by the sight of gore and smell blood and disease. Edward got him some water and a clean cloth and tried to think of comforting and reassuring phrases to tell him. 

“Thank you Dr. Nygma, I’m fine now I assure you. Just sometimes, being surrounded by so much pain all the time can be a little overwhelming.” He felt sympathy for Dr. Fox’s plight, but had trouble relating to his reaction. The work could certainly become physically exhausting in times like these, but the violence of war medicine had never really bothered Edward. He had never felt ill at the sight of blood or guts, or felt phantom pain in concert with a victim, or any of the other empathetic responses that other medical students reported. At most he felt somewhat repulsed by the symptoms of those sick or infected. Copious bodily fluids were rarely pleasant. He wondered, not for the first time, if something was wrong with him. 

He pondered as he wrote a quick letter to Kristen. Should he ask her? Would she find it odd that he was unmoved by the suffering of his patients? Would she reassure him that it wasn’t so unusual? Or would she be repulsed by his apparent callousness? Better not risk it. He gave a brief overview of the major events of the battle he’s heard about from patients and colleagues and told what he hoped was a humorous anecdote about almost forgetting to stitch up a patient after removing a bullet in his fatigue the previous evening.

After about a week, the hospital began to calm down. Between some wounded were sent home or to longer-term care at other hospitals, a few recovering enough to return to duty, and quite a few dying, the number of patients at the hospital reduced to a more manageable level. Edward was able to sleep until sunrise and spend some time actually socializing with his fellow medical staff and the officers. Not that he particularly enjoyed the latter. Colonel Gordon was pleasant enough, but the rest had a rather crude sense of humor. Lieutenant Bullock was particularly crass, frequently referencing various sexual encounters, many with prostitutes, and constantly drinking. He also seemed bothered by nearly everything Edward said. Edward did not find him enjoyable company. So, he spent most of his sparse leisure time chatting with Nurse Thompkins and Dr. Fox. One day, as the three of them were talking, they were interrupted by one of Mr. Cobblepot’s screaming fits. Nurse Thompkins excused herself to go see to him and Edward gave in to a curiosity that had been building in him since he’d arrived. 

“What exactly is the matter with Mr. Cobblepot?” Dr. Fox sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“No one is quite sure. Some disturbance of the mind. He often thinks he is still held captive by the rebels. I heard prisoners of war were treated rather poorly at the fort where he was held. There were rumors of rather severe interrogation practices there.” Edward nodded, intrigued. 

“And you think harsh conditions could have driven him to madness? Why? Were any other prisoners similarly afflicted?”

“I don’t know, there have been a few reports of soldiers losing their minds after time on the battlefield, but I didn’t hear of any of his compatriots having a reaction this severe. Why some are affected and not others? No one knows. Weakness of the mind perhaps.” 

“It’s a sad situation. I heard Colonel Gordon mention he likes reading. I always thought a love of the written word was evidence of a strong, energetic mind. But perhaps there are different kinds of mental fortitude.” Dr. Fox nodded.

“Indeed. All we can do is provide the best, most compassionate care we can, and hope our patients can find the strength to overcome.” 

"It isn't _us_ though, is it? Why are only the nurses allowed in his room? And only a select few at that?"

"Several Doctors already concluded there's nothing more medical science can offer him. I believe Colonel Gordon wishes to keep the number of people who seem him during one of his fits to a minimum. So as to preserve his dignity should he recover." Nurse Thompkins returned, rather sober.

“He’s in quite a state. I’m going to go back and sit with him a while to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else.” As she turned to go, a thought occurred to Edward and he caught her wrist.

“Colonel Gordon mentioned he could use to borrow some books. I brought a few with me, perhaps you could take one or two with you now and give them to him when he is feeling better. Let him know we are thinking of him and wishing him well.” She nodded 

“That would be lovely, Dr. Nygma.” He hurried off to his tent and rifled through his bags. He scampered back with his copy of Shakespeare’s _The Merchant of Venice_ and Jane Austen’s _Emma_. He handed them to Nurse Thompkins. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to let him know they’re from you. I’m sure he will appreciate them. Then she turned and hurried off to tend to her patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're almost there guys! I promise they meet in the next chapter!


	4. I Read to Live in Other People's Lives.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finally meets the mysterious Oswald Cobblepot.

There is a flower which offers nectar at the top,  
Delicious nectar at the top and bitter poison underneath.  
The butterfly that stays too long and drinks too deep  
Is doomed to die.  
\- _“I Read” from_ Passion, _by Stephen Sondheim_

_Dear Edward,_

_I miss you every day. I see on the dates of your letters that you are still writing me consistently, but the war has disrupted the postal service so that they come to me sporadically. Every time one is late I try to remember that the post is likely to blame, but I cannot help the terror for your safety that grips my heart. Since Virginia is so much closer than other rebel states, we hear of the battles taking place there frequently. Each time I cannot help but think of the peril you are in._

_I used to console myself with the thought that at least you were in the hospital, not the front lines. But Alice’s husband, Carl recently returned home after being discharged for an injury. He spoke of the conditions inside the field hospitals he stayed in and told us that more men were dying of illness than wounds. Now I pray every night that your constitution stays strong that you might not succumb to any such ailments.  
I live in anticipation of your next letter._

_Love, as always,_

_Kristen_

Edward tucked the letter in his pocket, so it would not get any food spilled on it and gave a small smile to his soup. Despite the morbid tone of this message, he couldn’t help but treasure every word and wanted to read it over and over. The disruption of the postal service affected him as well, and though this letter was dated only a day after the last one he had received, the gap between their arrivals had been over a week. He thought of what he should write in his own letter today. Perhaps something to allay the fears Kristen had expressed? It was true that disease was deadlier than rebel soldiers, diarrhea particularly had swept through their hospital with deadly force, but there must be something he could say to comfort her. He took another bite of soup as he considered the situation. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by movement to his left. He turned to see a small, thin man holding two books with both hands. He looked rather sickly, and as he took a step forward Edward saw he had a rather severe limp. This detail tugged at Edward’s memory, and when he recognized the pair of books he gasped in realization. The man who could only be Oswald Cobblepot frowned slightly in concern and spoke with a rather high voice.

“Doctor? Are you all right? I didn’t mean to alarm you.” He spoke softly, but his voice had an edge to it, like broken glass.

“You did no such thing, Lieutenant Cobblepot. It’s good to finally meet you, I am-”

“Dr. Edward Nygma,” Cobblepot interrupted, “I am aware. Nurse Thompkins has told me about you. I wish we could have met sooner, but my illness…”

“I understand, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, the body is a miraculous and terrible thing.” Edward gestured for Cobblepot to sit down, which he did. “When it works well, it can enable us to enjoy great pleasures and accomplish great feats, but when it fails us it can be the worst sort of prison.” Cobblepot smiled.

“You have quite the way with words, Dr. Nygma.” Cobblepot placed the books on the table and slid them towards him. “I came to return these books, and to thank you for lending them to me.”

“You finished them already? You’re very quick” Cobblepot’s smile stiffened, that edge to his voice grew sharper, cutting into the soft skin of their conversation.

“I am very bored. Despite what it sounds like, being confined to my bed for weeks or months on end is not particularly stimulating.” Edward wasn’t sure how to respond, so he tried to turn the conversation away from thorny emotions and back to steadfast literature. 

“What did you think of them?” 

“Well, I must say, I wasn’t expecting Austen to be in a war doctor’s library.” Cobblepot’s demeanor softened again as he chuckled. “Miss Woodhouse’s misguided scheming was enjoyable to read about, but I found the ending almost too satisfying? It felt good to read about in the moment, but was so unrealistically romantic that it took me a bit out of the story. Furthermore, the scene with the charades drove me up the wall.” Edward’s stomach sank.

“Oh?” The conundrums in that scene were the reason Emma was one of his favorite books. 

“Mr. Woodhouse’s inability to remember more than a few lines of that riddle left me in _torment_!” Cobblepot’s rage seemed to animate his entire body. He pounded on the table to emphasize his points, trembling in his chair with literature-induced fury. “Miss Austen was _cruel_ to prick her reader’s curiosity like that, only to leave it unfulfilled!” Edward smiled. Cobblepot wasn’t dismissive, he was engaged. Edward had never had the occasion to talk with a man so enthusiastic about wordplay in an Austen novel, and took a moment to savor the novelty before interjecting.

“You know, the riddle Mr. Woodhouse references is from a 1771 poem by David Garrick.” Cobblepot calmed but remained tense, eyebrows rising with impatience as Ed continues. “I happen to have read that poem, memorized it in fact.”

“Are you saying…?” Edward bites back a grin, tapping his foot surreptitiously beneath the table.

“Would you like to hear it in full?” Cobblepot relaxed as his eyes grew wide enough to catch the light flickering through the tent flaps. The edges of his open mouth pulled upwards slightly. It was a good look on him. 

“Yes” He responded breathily, almost a whisper. 

“Kitty, a fair, but frozen maid  
Kindled a flame I still deplore;  
The hood-wink'd boy I call'd in aid,  
Much of his near approach afraid,  
So fatal to my suit before.” 

Ed found himself speaking softly as well, staring into Cobblepot’s eyes as he recited the verses.

“At length, propitious to my pray'r,  
The little urchin came;  
At once he sought the midway air,  
And soon he clear'd, with dextrous care,  
The bitter relicks of my flame.”

Cobblepot stared right back, his eyes were such an unusual color. Earlier Ed would have sworn they were blue, but the way they catch the light now they look definitively green. His eyebrows pinch slightly together as he processes Ed’s words. Or, David Garrick’s, rather. They are unusually thin and shapely. Did he pluck them? The thought of Cobblepot with his delicate, but distinctly masculine features performing such a feminine activity made Edward flush, although not as unpleasantly as it should have. 

“To Kitty, Fanny now succeeds,  
She kindles slow, but lasting fires:  
With care my appetite she feeds;  
Each day some willing victim bleeds,  
To satisfy my strange desires.”

There was a friction building between them, although they were both barely moving. Like two stick being rubbed together to make a fire. Edward had no idea what could possibly spark between them, but he was abruptly terrified to find out, rushing his words a bit to finish the poem and end this petrifying moment. 

“Say, by what title, or what name,  
Must I this youth address?  
Cupid and he are not the same,  
Tho' both can raise, or quench a flame --  
I'll kiss you, if you guess.”

Edward turned away from Cobblepot’s open-mouthed expression and stirred his long-since-cold soup. Cobblepot tilted his head away, mouth now pressed closed as he frowned at the ceiling. The tension faded, and Edward relaxed. He turned back at the sound of a forced cough. 

“Well,” Cobblepot chuckled at the table as his cheeks grew red, “I can certainly think of a few answers, but I doubt they are suitable for polite company.”

“Oh no,” Edward adjusted his spectacles and smiled, “implied innuendo was a common element of eighteenth-century riddles, the inevitably innocent solution being part of the humor. In this case, the answer is ‘chimney sweep’.” Cobblepot raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him, but he smiled, so Edward felt their interaction was proceeding successfully. “What were your thoughts on the Merchant of Venice? Or had you read it before? I know Shakespeare is hardly an obscure author-” Cobblepot cut off Edward’s rabbling with a raised hand.

“I’ve read plenty of Shakespeare in the past, but never this play. I found its romanticism slightly more tolerable than Austen’s. At least the narrative admits marriage is an endeavor that requires one to ‘give and hazard all he hath’. But I’ll admit I far prefer his histories - or even some of his tragedies – to the romantic foolishness that fills his comedies. Not to say I’m not glad you let me read these. They did make me laugh for the first time in a long while, and both books are better than nothing. Wait, that sounds ungrateful, what I meant-” It was Edward’s turn to end Cobblepot’s distressed train of thought.

“So, you like his histories best? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone of that opinion, how unique.” 

“Well, as I explained, the subject of his comedies tends to disinterest me, and my life has had more than enough tragedy in it, I don’t need to read about someone else’s. The histories are sometimes tragic, but they tell tales of kings and statesmen of yesteryear, great and wicked and everything in between. All fighting over the _fate of civilization_. What could be more exciting?” Cobblepot was practically vibrating in his seat. His eyes alight with enthusiasm. It was a good look on him, his joy overpowering his features until he barely looked sickly at all.

“I agree, Shakespeare’s histories are just as great as his other works and rather underappreciated. However, reading his tragedies can be about more than just a sad story. There’s a lot of social commentary in there if you look for it, and content aside, all his plays have excellent wordplay. Especially if you study a little sixteenth-century English, trust me there are so many rhymes and puns that are lost on today’s readers-“

“Dr. Nygma. Thank you for your suggestions, But I’m afraid we have very different goals when it comes to reading.” Edward’s eyebrows drew together. “You read for scholarship as well as entertainment I presume?” Edward nodded. “I read for one reason only: To escape my life.” 

“What?”

“I am trapped in bed nearly _every_ hour of _every day_. I am in constant physical pain and afflicted by frequent mental torment. The only people I see are the nurses – primarily Miss Thompkins, and Colonel Gordon, all of whom feel little more than _pity_ towards me.” Oswald slams his hand on the table, his body rigid and trembling again. “I have no home or family to return to. All I want is to be somebody else, and reading is the closest I can get to that.” Edward was stunned silent. No social situation had prepared him for how to deal with such a melancholy outburst. “Forgive me, Dr. Nygma, I’m sure you hear and see more than enough pain and despair in your work. 

“I-It’s fine.”

“I just wish I could see or hear something beautiful every once in a while. I bird singing, a flower blooming. But all I ever hear are wounded soldiers, stressed out medical staff, and occasional gun and cannon fire during battles. All I ever see is the dirty white curtains around my bed.” Concrete desires Edward could work with. 

“Well, there are a few wildflowers growing near the tent I sleep in, are you strong enough to make it over there?” Cobblepot relaxed again and smiled, his eyes still a little watery from the emotions that fueled his rant. 

“I would love that, help me up?” Edward abandoned what was left of his soup and jumped out of his seat to help Cobblepot out of his. He picked up the books, intending to return them to his bags, then noticed the way Cobblepot swayed a little on his feet. He felt like smacking himself. He never should have phrased his proposition as a question of Cobblepot’s strength. Delicate, sickly, and in pain or not, Cobblepot was still a man. No doubt he felt compelled to prove his physical fortitude as a matter of pride. Edward shifted the books so that they rested in the crook of his right arm, offering up his left.

“ _Accompagne-moi?_ ” He hoped asking jovially in French would circumvent Cobblepot’s need to defend his dignity, and it seemed to work as he took Edward’s arm without another word and clung to it shamelessly for the duration of their walk. 

When they arrived at the bedraggled flower patch Edward knelt down to pick one of the purple daisy-like blooms so the Cobblepot wouldn’t bend down and stress his leg.  
“Here you go, New England Aster, a taste of home.” Edward handed the flower to Cobblepot who smiled at it. 

“I’m from Gotham, that’s not technically New England, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He tucked the flower in one of his buttonholes right alongside the button. “Thank you Dr. Nygma, I-” He broke off as an amputee passed them on crutches. He stared at the man, first going still, then starting to tremble. He pressed a hand to his chest as his breath became heavier. Edward saw his features contort into a scream. Frozen in helpless horror he watched as Cobblepot bent over arms clasped around his torso screaming like he was being murdered. It was so much worse up close in person. Edward reached out and grazed his shoulder, hoping to offer some kind of comfort. But Cobblepot flinched away and fell to the ground curling in on himself. Before Edward could figure out what to do next Thompkins and some other nurses arrived and bundled him off, leaving Edward shocked and alone, still holding the books in his right arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took me so long to update, school was hell. But I have now graduated from college and can promise to update at least every other week!


	5. The Sunrise Only Means Another Day Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New victories farther south require the hospital to relocate.

_How can I describe her?_  
The wretchedness, God, the wretchedness  
And the suffering, the desperation  
Of that poor unhappy creature.  
\- “Transition (Scene Two)” _from Passion, by Stephen Sondheim_

.

_Dear Kristen,_

_I met the mysterious former lieutenant Cobblepot today, and it was quite the ordeal. The man himself was pleasant enough, returning my books and discussing their content with me, but our conversation was cut short by a bought of the mania that plagues him. I have seen many gruesome sights in my line of work. Mutilated bodies, hideous diseases, men delirious with pain or fever, and men catatonic with nostalgia. But nothing has so disturbed me as seeing this engaging man suddenly lose all composure and control of his faculties._

_I am not often afflicted with emotional distress over the condition of a patient, but I cannot help and feel pity for the poor man._

_I am sorry to send you such a gloomy letter, but I’m afraid my head has no room for happier thoughts this evening.  
I hope you are well and taking care of yourself._

_All my love, as usual,_

_Edward._

_P.S.  
Have you ever read Austen’s Emma? If so, what did you think of the conundrums in the charades scene? What about Shakespeare? Do you prefer his comedies, tragedies, or histories?_

The next morning, Edward was sitting down for breakfast with Dr. Fox and the officers when he was surprised to see Cobblepot walk shakily in. Colonel Gordon stood up, eyes wide.

“Oswald!” the Colonel spoke loudly without quite shouting. “Will you be eating with us today?” Gordon’s voice rose in pitch as he spoke, tone wavery in a way Edward had never heard. Cobblepot shifted from one foot to the other. 

“Is that alright? I know I’m not an officer anymore…” 

“You’re a war hero, and my friend. Of course, you are welcome to eat with us.” Jim cut in. His voice strained with tension, but his pitch and tone returned had returned to their normal deep evenness. “Why don’t you sit down while I go get you a plate.” Jim strode off. Edward was seated to Jim’s immediate left, he smiled politely at Cobblepot and shifted closer to Dr. Fox to make room on the bench for him. Cobblepot smiled back as he sat down, his lips trembled a little, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. Jim returned with a plate of food which he placed in front of Cobblepot before sitting back down at the head of the table. 

Slowly the conversation between the officers resumed, although, Jim kept glancing over at Cobblepot as the former lieutenant methodically transported food from his plate to his mouth with his left hand. Edward usually just listened to the officers talking, occasionally commenting quietly to Dr. Fox or interjecting with a relevant anecdote or piece of trivia. But Cobblepot’s presence threw him off. He had donned his old uniform which was now too large for his thin frame, showing how much weight and muscle mass he’d lost since he’d become ill. He was sitting so close that his shoulder rubbed against Edward’s arm as he ate. He could feel how boney it was through the thick stiff fabric of his uniform. Edward was abruptly infused with the urge to wrap his arm around those scrawny shoulders, to squeeze that skinny form against his own. 

Edward shook his head and leaned to the left. It must be a nurturing protective instinct fueling such thoughts. Oswald was so gaunt he was probably perpetually cold. A desire to share body heat was natural, if socially inappropriate. Ed firmly told his brain this was the only valid explanation and to leave it at that.

Gordon mentioned that if their next campaign was successful, they would secure enough Southern land to move camp. Edward jumped on the topic and turned to speak to Dr. Fox.

“Should we make preparations for relocating the field hospital?” Dr. Fox jumped slightly at his overeager interjection but smiled warmly before replying.

“We should transport as many patients as possible to the nearest general hospital beforehand.” Ed nodded.

“And we must be sure that we send them far enough in advance that the ambulances can all get back in time to form an ambulance train for the purpose of moving any remaining patients to the next location.” Lucius dipped his head in agreement. Edward felt a hand on his right shoulder as Cobblepot leaned in to join their conversation. 

“I know I’ve been carried in an ambulance the last couple relocations, but I’ve been feeling quite a bit better these last few days, perhaps I could ride in a cacolet this time? I think I could handle it.” He looked Edward in the eye. “Especially if one of you fine doctors were to ride with me.” His gaze made Edward feel pinned down, his breath came shorter as if someone inhumanly strong were pushing on his chest. Fortunately, Lucius spoke next.

“We’ll evaluate your condition when the time comes, but I wouldn’t rule it out.” After a moment of Lucius talking Cobblepot turned to look at him, and Edward’s lung functionality began to return to normal. “However, having a doctor personally escort you might be too great a drain on resources.” 

“Of course, I understand,” Cobblepot folded his hands in his lap and nodded. Lucius turned farther to the right and Edward looked over to meet his eyes.

“We should also look into securing a real building in which to base the field hospital. A barn will do, but I’ve heard of some hospitals securing entire manors.” They discussed hospital arrangements for the remainder of dinner. Cobblepot stayed remarkably engaged for someone who was not part of the medical staff, although Edward supposed that a man in his condition had personal stakes in the status of the hospital. As the meal neared its end, Cobblepot rose, excusing himself in a rambling stream of words. 

“Well, I’m terribly sorry for departing so early in the evening, but I must retire. I can’t risk taxing myself. You understand, I hope.” Edward nodded and he turned to depart only to be blocked by Colonel Gordon as he stood as well.

“It was good having you here. Nice to see you up and about. I hope you can join us again sometime.” Gordon turned slightly, as if to sit back down, then paused and reached his left arm across his torso to clap Cobblepot’s left shoulder lightly. He quickly took his seat again and Cobblepot limped out of the tent, pausing at the flaps to glance back. He sent a tight-lipped smile to Edward and Gordon in turn then slipped past the dirty cream canvas and vanished. Conversation slowly and clumsily chugged back into a flowing rhythm and Edward noticed that Colonel Gordon seemed a little quicker to laugh at jokes and a little less likely to bring down the mood with mentions of more serious topics.

The next few days Edward spent every free moment helping plan the hospital’s relocation. He worked with Dr. Fox and the nurses to identify which patients should be sent north to one of the general hospitals, which could be discharged, and which should move south with them. Meanwhile, Dr. Guerra worked with Colonel Gordon to search for possible new locations. Once the two had narrowed it down to three buildings, and after Edward and Dr. Fox had planned out a schedule for patient relocation and ambulance routes, Dr. Guerra invited Edward to accompany him south to inspect the places and make a final decision. 

“I’m, ah, honored sir, but why me? Why not Dr. Fox?” It was probably because Edward was the superior physician, but while he used to be flattered when his brilliance was rewarded, he knew from experience that special treatment could breed resentment in his coworkers. 

“Well, someone needs to care for patients and oversee their relocation.” Edward could have accepted the explanation, but Dr. Guerra looked down at his hands which had begun twisting together as he gave it.

“But Dr, Fox has worked here much longer, surely he is more qualified…” He certainly wasn’t more skilled, but Dr. Fox had worked with the hospital longer, he had clear seniority and Edward did respect him as a professional. Dr. Guerra just sighed and took a step closer.

“To be honest, Dr. Nygma,” he spoke in a hushed tone, jaw tilted in Edward’s direction as though the slant of his head could control the direction of his voice, “I am concerned that this mission would be… uniquely dangerous for Dr. Fox. If he must travel further south, better it be as part our brigade, surrounded by armed seasoned soldiers. You heard how the rebels treat the colored soldiers they capture? They kill them! Or enslave them!” Dr. Guerra stepped back again shaking his head jerkily. “I was never one of those ‘abolitionist’ types. But to take a man who is already free and make a slave of him?” He shuddered, still not looking Edward in the eye. “Anyway, if that’s how they treat colored prisoners of war, just imagine their reaction to a colored doctor.” Edward wasn’t sure how to react to that. He’s never spent much time contemplating the question of race or the institution of slavery. But the thought of Dr. Fox’s mind lost to a firing squad or a plantation was chilling. Feeling awkward, Edward mentally groped around for relevant trivia, which was much more in his comfort zone.

“I agree wholeheartedly, sir. I mean, isn’t that just the sort of thing our forefathers fought against? Jefferson was a Southerner, a slave-owner too if not entirely by choice, but he fought the Barbary Pirates when they enslaved free Americans.” Dr. Guerra nodded and emitted a brief dry cough.

“Anyway, be ready to ride south with me overmorrow at six o’clock. We’ll be gone five days.”

The next morning Cobblepot joined them for breakfast again, once more seated between Edward and Colonel Gordon. He didn’t say much, but this time he stayed until everyone else had left, Gordon doing so after giving Cobblepot a smile and a shoulder-squeeze. When Edward tried to stand up Cobblepot grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down, pinning him to the bench. Once they were alone, he released Edward and began to fiddle with the buttons on the sleeve of his worn uniform shirt. 

“Dr. Nygma, I never got the chance to apologize for how our first meeting ended. I’m sorry to have caused such a scene, I hope I didn’t frighten you. It’s just…”

“There’s no need for shame or regret Lieutenant Cobblepot,” Mr. Cobblepot smiled softly, “I’m only sorry medical science is yet to find a cure for your mania. It’s not right that an affliction of the mind should leave one so debilitated.” Cobblepot’s lips tightened, contracting his smile. 

“Well, life is never fair Doctor, I’ve grown quite used to that.” His bitter tone saddened Edward and he tried to think of a more positive subject to discuss.

“The Hospital Steward has asked me to accompany him in scouting potential new locations for the hospital.”

“Oh?” Cobblepot’s tone brightened.

“He’s narrowed it down to a few barns and a residential estate.” Edward hadn’t realized how tense Cobblepot had been until he saw the tautness in his frame begin to ease.

“Well, I can’t help but root for the latter. It’s been so long since I’ve slept in a real house.”

“There are many factors to consider beyond personal comfort, but I understand your desire.” Cobblepot nodded his head smiling softly. It slipped from his face as he glanced away, and when he met Edward’s eyes again, he was frowning slightly.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow, six ‘o’clock. In the morning.” Cobblepot started slightly, frown deepening. Those plucked eyebrows squeezing a deep wrinkle into his forehead.

“Oh, so soon! How long will you be away?” 

“Five days.”

“Well, I shall miss you every single one.” Cobblepot said this with such intensity Edward had to remind himself that this was only their third conversation.

“That is… sweet of you to say, Lieutenant.” Cobblepot’s frown warmed back into a soft smile. His eyelashes fluttered as he turned away to stare at his long-since empty bowl. 

“Thank you Dr. Nygma,” he stood suddenly, “I should return to bed now. I don’t want you to have to deal with one of my fits again.” He hurried out of the tent before Edward could reply, departing without so much as a backward glance.

That evening Edward made sure to write an extra-long letter to Kristen, knowing he probably wouldn’t have much time for personal correspondence on his mission.

_Dear Kristen,_

_I have been selected to travel south with the Hospital Steward in order to assess the options available for our relocation. I wish I could say I was chosen based on some measure of skill or professional achievement, but the truth is the only other man qualified is black and the Hospital Steward thinks the journey would be safer for me._

_Mr. Cobblepot’s health seems it may be improving slightly, for he has attended breakfast twice this week. He is pleasant to talk to if a bit forceful on occasion. I don’t know why he seems to seek me out for conversation, perhaps lending him books was a more meaningful gesture than I anticipated? Whatever the reason, it certainly doesn’t bother me, it’s not like I have an overabundance of friends here. I’m sure you remember how unsociable I was when we met, while I confess that the greater ease of interaction I attained with you has not carried over into other parts of my life. Dr. Fox and Nurse Thompkins are closest I have to friends at the moment and we are not even on a first name basis._

_Just so you know, my quest with the Steward will likely interrupt my correspondence, so if you don’t hear from me again for a few days, don’t worry._

_As ever, I miss you terribly and long for the moment or our reunion._

_All my love, forever,_

_Edward_

The next morning Edward was packing his bags onto the saddle of his horse when he heard uneven steps behind him. 

“Lieutenant Cobblepot! You’re up early?” The man was smiling at Edward, but he was also rubbing his palms up and down his shoulders and biceps. “What are you doing out here? Is it safe for you to be out in this early morning chill?”

“I came to see you off.” He stopped rubbing with his left hand and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “And to give you this as a parting gift.” He handed Edward a tiny bible.

“Um, thank you?” Cobblepot giggled breathlessly.

“Open it!” Edward did so and found some wildflowers pressed inside. “To remember me by.” Edward gave a sideways smile, feeling a bit awkward. 

“I’ll be gone for less than a week.” He tucked the book inside his own jacket. Cobblepot smiled back widely. 

“And who knows what my condition will be like when you return. Who knows how long until I actually see you again? I don’t want you to forget about me.” His expression sobered. 

“I know our time together has been brief, but our conversations have meant a lot to me.” Edward swallowed, his chest was seized by that constricting sensation again. There weren’t many people who valued his presence, even Kristen had taken a lot of time to warm up to him. And she’d always enjoyed the… physical aspects of their relationship more than discussions of shared interests.

“Well, there’s no chance of that Lieutenant, I’ve found your companionship quite enjoyable as well, if too short in duration.” Cobbepot grinned, his cheeks rising so high they reduced his eyes to slim crescents. “Now get back in bed before this weather harms your health.” He nodded and limped away, glancing back every so often to send Edward another smile. Once he had disappeared from sight, Edward mounted his horse and rode to the edge of the camp to meet Dr. Guerra.


	6. The Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Dr. Guerra travel south to inspect possible locations for the hospital.

"It is remote, isn't it?  
And provincial, don't you think?"  
\- "Transition" from _Passion_ , by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine

Edward and Dr. Guerra rode all day and into the night. Only stopping to camp when a stretch of clouds completely blocked out the light from the moon, making it impossible to see. They set up a fire and took turns sleeping. During his time keeping watch, Edward wrote some notes about the sights they’d seen along the way in his notebook. A herd of deer. A group of Union drummer boys practicing together. A flock of swallows soaring and dipping together in an unfathomably complex aerial dance. He wouldn’t be able to send a letter to Kristen tonight, but he would make sure he had enough material for an especially long letter as soon as he was able to post one. Once he’d finished writing down every interesting thing he could think of, he dug through his bags for something to do to occupy his mind while he waited for morning. His fingers brushed against the bible Mr. Cobblepot had given him earlier. It’s black leather binding soft with age. A gust of wind caused the campfire to sputter. Edward shivered at the sudden chill. He waited for the flame to stabilize before opening the book to look at the flowers pressed between its pages. Their colors were not as vivid in the flickering firelight, but the shape of them was still pleasing to the eye. Edward felt warmth expanding from his core to his extremities. It had nothing to do with the fire.

When the sky began to lighten Edward woke Dr. Guerra and they continued their journey. Once more, they rode all day. It was dusk by the time they finally arrived at their destination. There was an inn in town that had offered them shelter and they checked in as the sun finished setting. The next morning, they visited the first barn, but it was a bit small, in a rather serious state of disrepair, and the fields around it were overgrown. Dr. Guerra shook his head. 

“I can’t officially rule it out until we’ve seen our other options. But...” Ed nodded.

“Not if we have an even slightly better choice.” They then traveled to the mansion. The residential estate was way beyond ‘slightly better’. It was clean, and warm, and had enough room inside for patients and enough room on the grounds for the soldiers’ tents. As the eager owner showed them about the second floor, pointing out their numerous fireplaces, Dr. Guerra nodded approvingly. 

“Well, it’s certainly a vast improvement over the barn. The only downside is that the first floor is not large enough for the entire hospital, so patients will need to be transported up and down two or three flights of stairs…” Ed hummed in agreement, pausing as they passed the manor’s private library. He couldn’t help but think of Mr. Cobblepot. He would gladly endure a few stairs for the chance to access so much literature. “…which could aggravate injuries. It would also be very difficult to evacuate if an emergency ever arose.” Edward glanced out the window and saw a shockingly well-tended flower garden. 

“On the other hand, a building that can actually be heated would be a great improvement over field tents or drafty barns. Dr. Guerra turned to face Ed as he spoke. A warm environment can be as beneficial to the healing process as rest and hydration.” Dr. Guerra nodded, gazing upwards.

“A good point. We’ll have to check the last location before making a final decision, but you’ve certainly made a good impression.”

The two men left the manor and went to see the second barn. It was perfect. Large and sturdy in the middle of a wide well-kept field at the top of a hill. It was at the South end of town, so patients being brought in from the battlefield wouldn’t have to travel through or around the town to reach the hospital, and the soldiers would be between town and Confederate troops if the rebels gained ground and attacked. After the farmer who owned it had shown them around Dr. Guerra shook his hand and thanked him.

“The United States government greatly appreciates you volunteering to loan us your property. Wherever we choose to set up our hospital, your assistance to the war effort will not be forgotten.” The man beamed and continued smiling broadly even after the handshake had ended. “Now, my colleague and I will go get some lunch and talk over our options, we shall inform you and the other candidates of our decision within a few hours.” Edward gave the farmer a stiff smile.

“Good day, sir” They mounted their horses and began to head back to the inn, but Dr. Guerra didn’t wait to begin discussing the places they’d visited.

“The manor certainly has appeal, but it’s not big enough to house everyone, so most soldiers will still have to sleep in tents outside, and a three-story hospital is really not ideal for patients.” Edward nodded, it was true. He wished the manor was superior in every way, but it wasn’t. Those were the facts.

“I agree with your concerns, Dr. Guerra, but…” He thought about that huge library and beautiful flower garden, he thought about how grateful Mr. Cobblepot had been for just two new books to read, and he thought about Mr. Cobblepot’s gift of wildflowers pressed between the pages of the book in his bag. There was one patient for whom the manor was superior to the barn. One patient for whom it was ideal. 

“But?” Dr. Guerra’s brow crinkled.

“…but there are other benefits to the manor I think you are overlooking. The benefits of warmth from fireplaces outweigh the disadvantages of having to transport patients upstairs. These patients are being lifted in and out of ambulances anyway, what are a few more minutes of being carried? And we can move patients upwards as they recover so that most patients with serious afflictions can stay on the first floor.” Dr. Guerra glanced away, looking upwards thoughtfully. Edward knew he almost had him. He just needed one more strong argument. 

“Also, there may be benefits to the mind and spirit. We all know the paralyzing grip a case of nostalgia can have on soldiers, perhaps living in a real house instead of a tent will be good for morale.” Dr. Guerra nodded. 

“You make a strong case, Dr. Nygma. The manor it is.”


	7. You Must Concentrate on Everything Around You That Suggests Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward returns to camp and it's time for the field hospital to relocate.

"I've watched you from my window.  
I saw you on the day that you arrived.  
Perhaps it was the way you walked  
The way you spoke to your men.  
I saw that you were different then.  
I saw that you were kind and good.  
I thought you'd understood."  
\- "Garden Sequence" from _Passion_ , by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine

Edward and Dr. Guerra arrived back at the field hospital very late into the night. Edward didn’t bother changing out of his clothes as he rushed to try and get a couple of hours of sleep before the buglers woke him for breakfast. Edward usually didn’t mind an early morning. He’d never understood the bone-deep hatred so many others expressed for the sound of the horn. Until that morning. He could murder that bugler. He dragged himself to the breakfast table and felt his mood brighten slightly when he saw Mr. Cobblepot was there next to Dr. Fox and they both gave him warm smiles.

“Dr. Nygma!” Cobblepot greeted him excitedly. “You’ve returned!” Edward smiled back as he sat down between him and Dr. Fox. 

“Lieutenant. It’s good to see you up and about.” 

“He’s attended breakfast for the last few days and has spent several hours a day outdoors.” Dr. Fox interjected. “I’ve approved his request to make the trip to the new hospital by cacolet if his condition continues to improve and if one of the medical staff is willing to accompany him.” Mr. Cobblepot sighed.

“I suppose I will have to ask Nurse Thompkins. Although she’s put up with me and my issues so much already it seems unfair to request more of her…” he looked down at his hands where they fiddled with the bottom of his uniform jacket. Maybe it was because exhaustion had clouded his judgment, but he made a different suggestion. 

“I could ride with you.” Cobblepot’s head whipped up, eyes wide as they met his. “You would have to be one of the last to leave so I can help the other patients depart and ride hard to catch up with the first wagons by the time we arrive.” Cobblepot nodded.

“I can handle it. As Dr. Fox said, I’ve been doing better.” Cobblepot’s tone was more forceful than Edward had occasion to hear before. Evidence of his stronger constitution, perhaps. Edward smiled.

“It’s settled then.” Cobblepot’s posture relaxed.

“Wonderful.” He smiled back. “Now, we’ve spent all this time discussing transportation arrangements and have been distracted from the far more relevant question of: How was your trip?” Edward felt oddly bashful at the change of topic and Cobblepot’s attentive interest.

“Rigorous.” He replied. “Most of the days were non-stop riding. But the location we selected is quite lovely. It’s a three-story manor with elegant architecture and furnishings, a lovely garden, and an expansive library.” Cobblepot’s mouth fell open in an astonished grin. 

“A library?” Edward felt a swell of warmth in his chest.

“Three-stories?” Dr. Fox cut in. “Won’t it be hard to move patients around?” His furrowed brow at odds with the calm, almost relaxed tenor of his voice. 

“Patients in critical condition can be kept on the first floor. Those well enough to walk upstairs with minimal assistance can be housed on the second, and medical staff can sleep on the third floor along with the military officers and our hosts.” Lucius nodded at the seeming logic behind this assessment. Edward felt a sliver of guilt from the knowledge of the more emotional reasoning that had led him to advocate for the manor. That guilt was smothered by a smug, pleased feeling when Cobblepot spoke again, nearly combusting with excitement. 

“You mentioned a library? What kinds of books did it have? How many?” Edward closed his eyes to help summon images of the room from his memory.  
“I only saw part of it through an open doorway. It looked like a large room. The distance from the doorway to the opposite wall was at least as far as the width of this tent and both walls I saw were top-to-bottom built-in bookcases. I think it’s reasonable to extrapolate that all four walls were similarly constructed.” Cobblepot “ooh”-ed and “ah”-ed throughout this description and Edward felt the warm feeling in his chest return. “I didn’t see any specific titles, but the spines were very colorful, so I would assume a large percentage were novels.” Cobblepot let out a squeak. Edward opened his eyes and saw he was grinning, so he deduced the sound was born of excitement.

Unfortunately, their conversation couldn’t continue much longer as the camp was in overdrive preparing for departure. Dr. Fox and the nurses had discharged and sent north the designated patients during Edward’s absence. So, the focus was now on packing up the remaining patients and the hospital itself for the move south. Edward didn’t even have time for lunch as he spent every moment the rest of the day helping patients into ambulances, wagons, and cacolets. He gave last-minute checks to bandages, stitches, and dressings. It was well-past dark by the time he could rest. He’d had to miss dinner as well, but Nurse Thompkins had taken pity on him and given him some jerky from the patients’ rations. He was so tired he felt he could fall asleep standing up, but he was determined to write Kristen first. He lit a small lantern and took out the notes he’d taken during his trip. He wrote down everything in as elegant prose as his exhausted mind could conjure. He spared no detail. He even confided how he’d thought of Cobblepot when visiting the manor. Although he made sure not to indicate it had influenced his opinion. He wouldn’t mind telling Kristen in person. She was hardly one to judge a little sentimental rule-bending. But he didn’t want to tell the military censors. 

The next day he was forced to miss breakfast in order to help pack up the last of the medical supplies and see the last of the patients safely embarked. His stomach felt like it was eating itself by the time he went to meet Mr. Cobblepot. He found him with Colonel Gordon. The Colonel was helping him onto a horse already saddled with a cacolet. The contraption slung over the horse’s back with a bag of supplies resting on the animal’s spine, a wooden seat on either side. Cobblepot sat in the chair on the horse’s right, so Edward walked around to its left. As he prepared to hoist himself up, Colonel Gordon grabbed him gently by the shoulder. Edward twisted to meet his gaze, right foot still poised against the seat’s footrest.

“Take care.” Gordon grunted. 

‘Of him’. Edward understood. 

He nodded and turned back around, pushing with his leg and grabbing the onto the sides to pull himself all the way up. Once seated, he took hold of the reins and they were off. Cobblepot waved to Gordon over his shoulder, then leaned towards Edward. 

“Sorry about him,” he spoke quietly, “he’s been overprotective since I became ill.”

“No need to be sorry.” Edward assured. Cobblepot reached into the bag sitting between them and pulled out a tin and a spoon.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He handed both objects to Edward, taking the reins in return. Edward opened the tin to find boiled grits inside. Not his preferred dish by far, but in his current state of hunger the sight made his mouth water.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Cobblepot chuckled as Edward began shoveling grits into his mouth.

“Dr. Nygma, as flattering as I find your use of my former rank, I think we know each other well enough now for you to call me Oswald.” Edward suddenly found himself unable to maintain eye contact. He felt… something… almost like embarrassment? But somehow positive.

“Okay… _Oswald_. But only if you call me Edward.” He snuck a glance back at Oswald who was beaming.  
“It’s a deal. _Edward_.” They both giggled inanely for a few moments. The good-embarrassed feeling crested within him and the intensity forced him to break eye contact. 

“So, how did you and Colonel Gordon become so close?” 

“We served in the same regiment as privates. We were the only two from Gotham, so we would reminisce together sometimes. We butted heads a lot, but we ended up sticking close together through a couple of battles. He saved me when a blast knocked me unconscious in a trench. Then my leg got messed up while helping him when he was pinned down. That’s how I got captured. I couldn’t retreat fast enough. I think he feels guilty because of it. It was the POW experience that messed me up more than the battles really. I’ve never been too bothered by violence. Maybe that’s why Jim’s taken such pity on me now. Because I seemed so ‘brave’ back then. But the carnage and gore never really upset me the way it did the others. I don’t know why but watching other people get injured has never affected me much. Unless it was someone close to me. Like my parents.” He glanced up at Ed, almost nervously.

“I understand. I’m the same way really. When I was working for the Army Field Hospital every warned me that I would be horrified by the sight of so many mangled bodies. But I never felt that way. Each corpse told a different story about how someone’s body broke. Figuring out how it happened and what could be done to fix or prevent it in the future was actually almost enjoyable.” Edward sighed in relief. It felt so good to talk about this with someone. He’d spent so long feeling out of place, unsure why he couldn’t just feel the way everyone else did. Ashamed of finding so much joy – a good job, the love of a beautiful woman, work he found engaging – in a time when everyone else was feeling so much sorrow. 

“Yes, I remember Dr. Fox commending on your demeanor.” He couldn’t remember such a subject coming up during any of the times the three of them had eaten together. Had Oswald and Dr. Fox spoken about him together while he was absent?

“What? When? What did he say?” 

“You were there. I heard you two speaking with Dr. Guerra when you arrived. You talk quite loudly when you get excited.”

“Oh dear, I apologize.”

“There’s no need. It’s charming.” That good-embarrassed feeling surged inside him. “And your voice is pleasant to listen to, almost soothing. Even when you are performing surgeries, your tone remains conversational. It’s refreshing. I suppose that’s a consequence of your own indifference towards the so-called ‘horrors of war’?” Edward nodded. He’d never thought of it that way. That perhaps the surgical skills he prided himself on, were actually benefited by his lower emotional sensitivity. It was a pleasant revelation. Like solving a puzzle. Oswald’s story, however, still had a missing piece.

“But if war doesn’t disturb you, what affected you so to cause your ailment?” Oswald sighed and hunkered down in his seat. Edward wondered if he should have just let the subject lie. 

“The rebels had this doctor at the fort. Hugo Strange. He had all these ideas about advancing medical science and experimented on prisoners under the guise of ‘treatment’.” All the warmth had seeped out of Oswald’s expression and his gaze became fixed on the horizon. “Even now… just thinking back on it…” He began to tremble. Edward reached out and reflexively grabbed his hand, hoping to calm him down. 

“It sounds awful. I’m sorry I made you reflect on it for a moment.” He squeezed Oswald’s hand and set down the tin he still held in his left hand in order to layer it on top of their intertwined ones. “Let’s focus on the positives. On the future. Surely if it is memory that is the trouble you will grow well as the memories fade. ‘Time heals all wounds’ and all that.” Edward rubbed Oswald’s knuckles with his left thumb, hoping the soothing gesture would calm his mind. It seemed to work as Oswald regained his composure and smiled grimly. 

“And even if I did recover, what future would I have? My parents are dead. My inheritance a bankrupt estate. Perhaps Jim’s pity is the best I can do for myself.”

“Don’t talk that way. You should look for the little pleasures of life.”

“‘Little pleasures’?” 

“Well, look around us! Blue skies, and birdsongs, and wildflowers…”

“It’s all certainly more enjoyable than being trapped in bed inside a canvas tent all day. But not really much to live for.” Edward realized he was still holding Oswald’s hand. Still rubbing his knuckles. He’d probably held onto it an inappropriately long time. But he was loath to let it go. It had been so long since he’d touched another human being so affectionately. Not since Kristen…

“What about love? Isn’t that enough to live for?”

“You mean the platonic love of friendship…?”

“No. I mean the romantic kind. Between two people. You’re unmarried. You still have that joy ahead of you.” Oswald yanked his hand from Edward’s grasp. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Edward. That kind of love will never be mine.” 

“What- Why-?”

“These talks we’ve had. I thought you understood. The kind of person I am…” Oswald shoved the reins back into Edward’s hands and wrapped his coat tighter around himself. His shoulders hunched up beneath it.

Edward held the reins in one hand as he picked up the empty tin and handed it back to Oswald. 

“Thank you again for this, it was delicious.” Oswald unclenched his hand from the folds of his coat and reached out to accept the tin. He tucked it back in the bag. “I’m sorry I upset you.” Oswald’s shoulders relaxed. 

“It’s alright. I guess even you can’t be perfect.” Edward didn’t know why he deserved an ‘even’ but Oswald gave him a small smile and he decided it wasn’t important. He took the reins in both hands again, urging the horse faster.

“Here comes the ‘riding hard’ part.” Oswald squared his jaw and braced himself against the cacolet. He shot Edward a smile and a nod. Edward directed the horse into a trot. Then a lope. He didn’t dare push it much faster for fear of tiring it out. Oswald adjusted to the pace quickly and was soon pointing out wildlife and bits of scenery that caught his attention. The earlier tension forgotten, they conversed amiably the rest of the day.


	8. One Must Look to Life for Whatever Pleasures it Can Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Oswald stop for the first night of their journey.

_“How could anyone  
So unbeautiful   
Stir my memory of you?”  
\- "Garden Sequence" from _Passion _, by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine_

By dusk, they had passed the majority of the hospital wagons and stopped to rest for the night. Edward took the cacolet off the horse and slung it over a large log so they could eat dinner sitting on it rather than the damp ground. As he stoked a fire, Oswald questioned him amiably about his time working for the Army Medical Museum. Edward told him about the displays of corpses showing different kinds of fatal wounds. Which prompted the question:

“Where did they get all those bodies?” 

This led to Ed regaling him with tales of his travels to the front lines with the Surgeon General as he cooked. It was shockingly pleasant. Edward had never had many people interested in hearing him talk about himself. Even Kristen found stories about his work too morbid. She certainly didn’t find such a topic suitable for dinner. Edward supposed this was the point of having close friends in addition to a romantic partner. No one person could fit together with another completely seamlessly. So, you found other people with whom you could share those parts of yourself that didn’t fit into your relationship. Were he and Oswald friends? How did one tell such a thing? 

He broke his train of thought as he finished preparing their food and presented Oswald with his portion. In the course of his relationship with Kristen, Edward had found he derived great enjoyment from the task of cooking for someone. Excluding their sexual activities, nothing had brought him greater joy than watching Kristen bite into a dish he’s made and hearing her tell him what a good job he’d done and complimenting how delicious the food was. He felt a similar happy flutter as Oswald moaned around his first mouthful. 

“I don’t know what you’ve done to these rations Edward,” Oswald said as Edward sat back down in his side of the cacolet, dinner in hand, “but this is easily the best thing I’ve eaten since I was sent to the front.” Edward grinned into his meal as Oswald let out an enthusiastic “MMM-mmm.” 

Once they’d finished eating Edward cleaned up and put some more wood on the fire. As he returned to his seat, he noticed Oswald had begun rubbing his injured leg.

“Is it hurting?” Oswald shrugged.

“It’s always hurting, don’t worry about it.” Edward stood and stepped over the log. He kneeled in front of Oswald. 

“I know the nurses check on your health frequently, but has a doctor taken a look at your leg?” Oswald narrowed his eyes at Edward a moment, but shook his head. “Perhaps I could see if there’s any physical relief I could offer?” Oswald glanced down and to the left, firelight catching in his eyelashes as they fluttered against his cheeks. He inclined his head.

Edward carefully rolled up the right cuff of his uniform trousers and examined the injury, watching Oswald’s expression as he ran his fingers over the mangled skin until he found the right places to press that made Oswald sigh and relax instead of grit his teeth and tense.

“Does that feel better?” Edward asked. Oswald nodded, eyes pressed tightly closed.

“The pain does seem to be subsiding. Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Nygma.” 

Edward chuckled. Always trying so hard to be proper and put together. He had to admit it was one of the traits he found most compelling about Oswald. He might be crippled, homeless, and afflicted with mania. But the way he wore his old uniform, gold Lieutenant’s insignia still standing out proudly on his shoulders, and his verbose vocabulary gave him an undeniable sophistication. When cognizant, Oswald embodied gentlemanly charms and manners. 

It made Edward’s stomach feel… 

funny. 

He realized he’d done as much as he could for Oswald’s leg and was still rubbing it. He quickly let go as his palms began to sweat. Oswald opened his eyes. Edward realized he hadn’t been this close to someone in a very long time. Oswald’s eyes were so bright in the firelight.   
His plucked eyebrows so shapely. His cheekbones. His lips…

Edward shook his head and carefully set Oswald’s leg back down. 

That train of thought was entirely inappropriate. Oswald was a man. More importantly, Edward loved Kristen. Her features were the only ones he should notice… that way. 

Edward stood swiftly and returned to his own seat. Oswald frowned at his sudden departure for a moment before Edward smiled back to cover for his awkwardness. 

Oswald had nothing in common with Kristen. Kristen was soft feminine curves and warm red hair styled in ringlets. She was delicate pretty dresses and a sweet round face. Oswald was sharp masculine angles and dark spiky hair. He was a bold uniform and a strong jawline. There was no reason two such different people should inspire such similar feelings. In fact, it was improbable. There had to be another explanation.

Ed offered to take the first watch and continued to dwell on the issue while Oswald curled up and fell asleep.

Perhaps it was just because he had been apart from Kristen so long. He was just so sexually frustrated he was beginning to find anyone attractive.

Of course, he hadn’t actually felt this way about anyone else. 

Not even Nurse Thompkins who he spent quite a bit of time around and was an actual woman.

Then again, he’d never rubbed Nurse Thompkins’ leg. That was it. Physical proximity. Intellectually, he might know the difference between physical intimacy for pragmatic reasons and for romantic ones. The difference between a man’s leg and a woman’s. But his body was ignorant. Of course, he touched numerous patients in a variety of intimate places on a daily basis, but they were usually wounded or physically ill. Quite viscerally infirm. Unlike Oswald, whose affliction was invisible. 

Edward nodded to himself, satisfied, and settled down to sleep.


	9. You and I Are Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding causes things to heat up; then cool way, way down.

_Don't reject me, don't deny me, Captain  
Understand me, be my friend._  
\- _"Garden Sequence" from_ Passion _, by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine_

The next morning Oswald watched as Edward put out the fire.

“Edward?” Edward looked up over the black mass of charred wood to meet his eyes.

“Yes?” He watched as Oswald glanced away, shifting in his seat before meeting his gaze again. Peering up at him from beneath his eyelashes. 

“Are we friends?” Ed thought back to his own ponderance of this question the evening prior. A jittery feeling of anticipation fluttered inside him.

“I thought we might be.” Ed cleared his throat. Oswald took a deep breath.

“I hope we are.” Edward smiled.

“Then we are.” Oswald grinned.

The second day was even more pleasant than the first. They rode at a brisk pace, surpassing the rest of the intermittent caravan by evening, and the conversation was lively all the while. 

“Have you read any of Walt Whitman’s work?” Oswald asked in the midst of a tense discussion of literature. Edward thought back.

“Only _Leaves of Grass_ , I’m afraid.” He sighed. “But I found it quite enjoyable.” Oswald hummed.

“What were some of your favorite poems?”

“Oh, the entire ‘Calamus’ section was the best by far” Edward enthused. Oswald’s eyebrows shot up. 

“The ‘Calamus’? Really?” He chuckled a little and ran a hand through his hair. Edward didn’t understand what was funny, but he smiled along and nodded.

“In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined / toward me,” He recited, “And his arm lay lightly around my breast—and that night I was / happy.” The stanza had always brought to mind his time with Kristen. Oswald stared at him a moment before responding with his own quote.

“Whoever you are holding me now in hand, / Without one thing all will be useless, / I give you fair warning before you attempt me further, / I am not what you supposed, but far different.” Oswald’s voice had a throaty quality to it that lent the poem a passion Edward had not felt on the page. “Who is he that would become my follower? / Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?” He continued to hold Edward’s gaze in silence for a moment. “You know, I heard many of the Calamus poems were inspired by Mr. Whitman’s visits to certain bathhouses in Gotham. Have you ever been to one of those?” Edward shook his head.

“I regret to say I have not. But perhaps, once this war is over, I can visit you there and we can go to one together.” Oswald’s pale skin turned bright pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

“Edward!” He giggled. “You’re quite the bold one!” He fanned himself with his hand, even though it wasn’t particularly hot. Edward was honestly perplexed by the whole exchange. But Oswald kept shooting him shy, pleased little smiles until the sun began to set, so he let it lie.

They stopped for the night and Edward built another fire and heated up some more rations. Oswald was relatively quiet throughout, but he kept giving those little smiles over his dinner. Once they’d finished Edward cleaned their dishes and packed them away. Before he could sit back down Oswald cleared his throat.

“Um, Edward?” He blinked several times in rapid succession. “Do you think you would mind, ah, _helping_ me with my leg again tonight?” He patted said leg for emphasis and rubbed his lower lip with his forefinger. “I could _really_ use some of that… ah… ‘physical relief’ you spoke of tonight.” Edward nodded and walked over to Oswald’s side amiably. He settled himself at his feet and picked up Oswald’s leg carefully, just like the night before. He started at the ankle and worked his way upwards. Oswald’s breathes became heavier and heavier. By the time Edward finished with the knee, he was panting. Edward didn’t remember him having such a strong reaction last night, but perhaps his obvious embarrassment had prevented him from fully appreciating the pain relief. Or perhaps a longer day of riding had left his leg even more tense and bothersome than the previous evening. As he began to massage the lower thigh Oswald spoke breathily.

“Edward?” He paused his ministrations to look up at him. Oswald’s cheeks were so red the effect was easily noticeable in the firelight. Suddenly Oswald reached forward and grabbed Edward by the flaps of his coat, yanking up and forwards into a searing kiss.  
Edward was frozen in shock for a moment. Oswald’s lips were warm against his own. His nose was cold where it pressed into his cheek. It felt good. Too good. Edward felt a hot flush up and down his body. Oswald’s eyelashes fluttered against his skin.  
Edward came to his senses and threw himself backward. He flung his arms back to catch him before he fell to the ground. 

“Edward? What’s wrong?” Everything was wrong.

“What are you doing?” Oswald frowned at him.

“Kissing you?” Edward didn’t know how to begin to respond to that. Oswald rolled his eyes. “Come on! There’s no one around for miles. We might not get a chance like this again for a long time. And I for one am not waiting for some post-war rendezvous at a Gotham City bathhouse to properly express the way I feel about you.” He beckoned for Edward to come closer with both hands. But Edward felt like he was speaking a different dialect. 

“What are you talking about? Are you under the impression I wish to engage in acts of… of sodomy? What does any of this have to do with a bathhouse?” 

“You’re serious.” Oswald’s expression slowly faded to melancholic. “But- but you quoted ‘Calamus’! You said you wanted to visit a bathhouse with me!”

“I don’t even know what a bathhouse is!” Edward exclaimed. “I was just trying to be friendly!” Oswald’s eyes began to moisten. 

“And the way you always smile at me… and look at me…” he squeezed his eyes shut and slammed a fist against his good knee, “…oh, I’m such an idiot!” Edward felt guilt coil in his stomach. He _had_ possessed some pretty inappropriate thoughts while looking at Oswald. But it didn’t _mean_ anything. Just because Oswald was very lovely to _look_ at – especially right now with his eyes all big and shiny and his usually pallid skin flushed and glowing warm in the firelight – did _not_ mean Edward wanted to do anything. Right?

“Looking doesn’t mean anything! People look at each other all the time!” Oswald was frowning again.

“What? That’s what I’m saying. I don’t know why you’re being so defensive.” Edward sat back up into a kneeling position.

“Just because you look handsome in a uniform does not mean I want to risk my life to engage in- in illegal… _indecent_ acts with you.” 

“Well… when you describe it that way… it kind of sounds like you do _want_ to.” Oswald leaned in close, their faces mere inches apart. He could feel Oswald’s breath on his lips. His lips that Oswald had been so recently kissing with his warm, slightly chapped, lips. Lips Edward was now staring at. “You _do_ want to.” Oswald whispered. Edward leaned away again quickly.

“I have a girl!” He blurted out. “I have a girl, back home.” Oswald squinted at him.

“Are you _serious_?” He asked.

“My heart belongs to her.” Edward replied resolutely. Oswald leaned back in his seat and gave Edward a searching once-over. Edward closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself, then stood and returned to his side of the cacolet. He sat down with his back to Oswald and stared into the fire.

Before he knew it, morning had come. He and Oswald didn’t speak to each other while Edward cleaned up and put the cacolet back on the horse. They didn’t share a single word the rest of the day, although Edward caught Oswald shooting him glances periodically. They finally reached the mansion where the new hospital was to be set up and were greeted by the cheerful owner. After helping Oswald down from the cacolet, the contact sending shivers rippling across his body, Edward was finally forced to break the silence.

“Your room is on the third floor. Mr. Dolmacher will show you the way.” He removed Oswald’s bag from the horse and shoved It into his arms.

“Edward, I realize I… pushed you in an area you’re not comfortable with last night.” Edward focused his attention on loosening the straps of the cacolet. “I sincerely apologize.” He clutched his bag to his chest and stood there watching Edward. Realizing he would have to say something to get him to leave Edward stiffly replied.

“I accept your apology.” But Oswald didn’t leave yet.

“We’re still friends, right?”

“Sure. We’re friends.” But Edward knew it would have to be a friendship from afar. Because from now on he planned to avoid Oswald like he had the pox.


End file.
